


The Zelda Ficlet Collection

by SpicyChestnut



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Family, Fatherhood, Ficlet Collection, Gen, Romance, anniversary sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2019-10-31 11:47:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17848862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpicyChestnut/pseuds/SpicyChestnut
Summary: A collection of short Zelda ficlets on a variety of subjects. They will be canon, AU, and post-game. Mostly ZeLink. M rating is for highest rated fic--each is rated differently. / Chapter 2: It was always best on their anniversary [M]





	1. A Wonder and A Marvel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Link has a few minutes alone after the birth of his and Zelda's first child to reflect on fatherhood. [rating: G]

The bundle in his arms weighed no more than the bundle of wheat he had picked up from Pruce at the East Wind Market earlier that week; and yet the tiny, squashed figure wrapped in soft linens and cottons represented something so much more essential to him, now, than anything as banal as food or water. She was still in his embrace, the skin of her face chubby and wrinkled and still pink from the gentle but thorough cleansing Purah had performed after removing her umbilical cord and taking measurements.  
  
“Twenty one inches long and eight pounds! Healthy as can be!” Purah had gleefully pronounced from the scale she’d set atop the bedroom desk, its usual contents hurriedly dumped into the laundry basket in his frenzied rush to make way for Purah’s arrival late the night prior. Despite all of their preparation, all of his reading and their consultations with the Sheikah scientist, he hadn’t been prepared for the pained scream and dampened sheets which awoke him from a deep slumber at one thirty in the morning. He had paced fretfully during the almost ten minutes it had taken Purah to gather her supplies and warp down the hill, only finally giving up on the rut he was creating in the floor when Zelda snapped at him in irritation to “Sit DOWN, for the Goddess’ sake!” before moaning and clutching the sheets in a white-knuckled grip.  
  
He sat beside her on their bed through all ten hours of labor, allowing her to freely squeeze the blood from his hand as she trembled with the effort of bringing their child into this world, offering soothing words and gentle encouragement between pushes. With her every scream he felt his heart shudder and skip, but he held firm—as firm as he had before Ganon (though this, admittedly, scared him much more than facing Ganon ever had). But if she could do it, he would too.  
  
And then, finally, after so many hours of pained effort, with a final grunting shout she pushed—and a high-pitched cry filled the room, Purah grinning ear to ear as she gently pulled the infant—their child—from Zelda’s body and carefully lifted her into the air.  
  
“It’s a girl!” she whispered with reverent glee.  
  
And now, an hour later, here she was—asleep in his arms, just like her mother who lay exhausted on their bed beneath fresh sheets.  
  
He couldn’t stop the smile which pulled at his lips as he looked down at her. Caliope, they had decided to name her; to hell with royal tradition. It was a wonder and a marvel to him that something so small—so nubile and vulnerable and _wrinkly_ —could, in the span of hours, become the whole of his world. He hadn’t even noticed the sudden and marked change in himself until Zelda had prompted him, with no small amount of teasing amusement in her voice, to “Please give our daughter back to me—she needs to eat, you know.” Handing her to his wife sheepishly, he had felt as though a part of himself left with her—as if Caliope’s tiny, pudgy fingers had somehow managed to grab hold of a small sliver of his soul in the brief few minutes he had held her; and that piece of his soul had been permanently parted from him—hers, now, forevermore.  
  
And yet it was by no means a painful parting; quite the contrary, he felt as if his heart and soul were so full of joy and wonder that he would burst with it.  
  
The sun was just ascending to the peak of the heavens, bright summer sunlight streaming in through the bedroom window. Smiling softly down at his daughter, he rose with the utmost care from the bed, now bathed in light, making for the armchair in the far, shadowy corner of the room.  
  
“Let’s let mommy rest in peace, huh, Caliope?”  
  
As he lowered himself to the seat of the chair, Caliope stirred, and he watched in wonder as she struggled to creak open her eyelids, managing only the tiniest of gaps through which her pupils could gaze out into the world. Vibrant green eyes—turquoise, almost—gazed up at him, and he felt his breath catch. _Just like her mother’s…_  
  
“Little one…” he whispered, feeling his throat tighten with emotion as he met her feeble gaze, one hand raising to gently stroke her cheek with the tip of his finger. “Welcome to the world. Your mommy worked really hard to bring you to us.”  
  
Caliope held his gaze only a moment longer before the effort of keeping her eyelids open became too much. He chuckled softly.  
  
“I suppose you worked really hard to reach us, too,” he added quietly, feeling his smile broaden. “And lots of people are working really hard right now to reach you. I can’t wait for you to meet them all! Auntie Riju and Auntie Buliara are traveling through the Faron woods on there way here, right now. Even though Auntie Riju has spent her whole life in the Gerudo desert, she’s making the trip across the Kingdom just to see you! And Uncle Sidon is swimming down the coast as we speak—maybe even grandpa Dorephan if he can make it. Uncle Yunobo is coming too—all the way from Death Mountain! And Uncle Teba is probably flying high above Hyrule castle right about now. He’s coming from the furthest reaches of the Kingdom—all the way from Rito Village! It’s a long way to travel, but he’s a fast flier.”  
  
Link paused in his enthusiastic diatribe as Caliope shuddered briefly, then yawned widely—or as widely as her newborn body could manage. Link felt his chest constrict and his smile broaden.  
  
“I guess you’re pretty tired, huh?” he murmured, cradling her just a little bit closer. “I suppose I should let you rest too. You’ll need to be fresh if you’re going to handle all your aunts and uncles at once!” He laughed softly, rising carefully from his chair and crossing the room to the polished, hand-carved walnut bassinet Bolson had made for them after the announcement of Zelda’s pregnancy. A soft, tiny mattress stuffed with Hebra cotton and Rito down—a gift from Teba and Saki—lined the bottom. Link placed her atop it with the utmost care—as though she were something invaluable and delicate and precious; and she was.  
  
Though Caliope had only been of this world for but a handful of hours, Link understood now what Teba and Dorephan had meant when they’d told him that fatherhood would change him—that he would come to see the world in an entirely different way. But it was a good thing, he thought, as he stepped back and watched his daughter settle and still upon her downy bed, eyes shut peacefully. He was ready to grow and to change—for his life to become about something more than himself or his marriage or his impending Kingship; for it to mean more than his experiences and his legacy alone.  
  
He gazed down at Caliope—at a beautiful little girl—and smiled, feeling that same tightening in the back of his throat and a tell-tale prickle behind his eyes. For all of the hardships they had endured, for all of the difficulties they had overcome—they had made something so magnificent and beautiful and special. Though it had taken all of themselves, they survived—had defeated the Calamity, began a new life in a new Hyrule, and started putting the crumbled pieces of a ruined Kingdom back together. They had found in each other a partner with which to navigate this most strange of preoccupations called existence; and together, through their deep and abiding love, had forged new life; this life—this infinitely fragile and beautiful thing delicately wrapped in cottons and linens, lying in a bassinet lovingly carved, atop a mattress gifted in friendship and good will.  
  
He could think of little else that better represented how far they had come—and the transformational healing which had blessed their lives and the land. On this day, the fifth of June, Princess Caliope was born—and with her, a new and glorious era of peace and prosperity for the Kingdom and its people; but, perhaps most of all, for the two people whose lives had spanned lifetimes and encompassed impossible struggles—Link and Zelda, together and whole at long last.


	2. Linger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was always best on their anniversary. [rating: M]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spicy rises from the grave to deliver this totally random one shot out of left field. I hope this will contribute to breaking my writer's block. I was so stoked to be able to get this much text out at once! As usual let me know what you guys think--and please enjoy!

It was always best on their anniversary.  
  
Not the anniversary of her moving into his home in Hateno, nor the anniversary of their first time together, nor even their wedding; but the anniversary of their defeat of Calamity Ganon—of the day they were reunited after a century apart.  
  
They never made any sort of plan to celebrate it, let alone even acknowledge it; but without fail when that day came every year, they both remembered. Sometimes it took a while to recall, sometimes not. There were years Link could remember bolting upright in bed, still half asleep, with the feel of her in his arms that sunny afternoon in Hyrule field as tangible as the sheets beneath his fingers. Other years he didn’t remember until late into the day, when they were sitting down to dinner together at their small kitchen table, and he would quietly murmur, “It’s been two years.” And she would smile, lifting a spoon to her mouth, and simply hum in acknowledgment.  
  
Inevitably, unfailingly, at some point they would wind up in each others’ arms, overwhelmed with gratitude that the other was alive, and overflowing with a deep and unabiding love born of all their desperate struggle for hope and happiness.  
  
He remembers one year in particular, early on. It had been shortly after dinner, and he’d watched her sitting in their threadbare armchair, bathed in the fading light of the window, attempting (and failing) to patch a pair of his trousers. Sewing was then a new skill to her, and he could hear her quietly muttering in frustration from across the room where he cleaned up their dishes. In their own, quiet ways they’d both acknowledged what day it was over their evening meal; and as he watched her, setting down the clean, dry plate  atop their kitchen counter—theirs, now, not his—he’d found himself inexorably drawn to her.  
  
She was here—she was real; and they were _together_.  
  
He’d crossed the room to her then, silently; and when he knelt before her, she had looked up in surprise, and he’d taken her cheeks gently between his palms and pulled her into him, kissing her for all he was worth.  
  
They never made it up the stairs and to the bed. They made love there, on the rug, not bothering to fully remove their clothes. He hiked up her sun dress as he moved within her with an urgency and a need and a devotion that always seemed to erupt unexpectedly on this particular day. She had kissed him just as fiercely, her cries pitched and unrestrained, clinging to him like a lifeline and moving with him in a perfect rhythm that made his heart and body sing.  
  
After they both reached their peak and he rolled off of her and onto the floor, he may have gotten jabbed by her needle and cursed a little, but the laughter which followed lingers with him still.  
  
There was another year, when it rained, and they were making the trip to Tarrey Town for the birth of Hudson and Rhondson’s first child. He and Zelda were to be named Godparents, and so despite the poor weather they eagerly hurried north, forging through the unpleasant weather with a cheer born only of such good tidings. They rose early on the second day of their journey, but as Link began to pack up their small camp in the shelter of a thick grove of trees, he caught Zelda leaning against a tree, staring out at the rain with a soft look upon her face.  
  
“It’s been four years.”  
  
She had turned to him with a smile, eyes drinking in the image of him, whole and healthy and hers. He had smiled back, meeting her gentle gaze with his own—a silent understanding, before turning back to his task. They had carried on, riding further north before the storm worsened—halting their progress with gusting winds and blinding rain at Crenel peak. Link had ushered them into the safety of a hillside cave, and as soon as he turned to her, dripping wet but smiling even after their fraught scramble up the side of the rocky slope, she had pinned him against the wall, kissing him deeply.  
  
“I love you so much,” she had whispered against his lips between kisses, hands threading his wet hair and fisting the strands with a desperation that called back to the overwhelming joy and relief of meeting each other again after a lonely century apart. He took her against the wall, her legs wrapped around his back, sandwiched between him and the stone as he thrust up into her, slow and deep and aching, whispering her name as she clung to him, nails digging into his back through the fabric of his tunic.  
  
After, they cuddled together beside a small fire atop his sleeping roll, the wind of the storm occasionally gusting in from the mouth of the cave and sending sparks flying into the air. He held her close, stroking her shoulder gently as he nuzzled into her hairline. Though the air was cold, he was filled with a warmth that lingers with him still.  
  
This year, so many years later, had proved no different from the ones which came before it.  
  
They had planned a day trip down to Hateno Beach, just an afternoon to relax after returning from a lengthy trip to Rito Village. Link had packed a picnic, and Zelda their towels and a spare change of clothes. Hand in hand, they’d leisurely walked down the path from Purah’s after breakfast, smiling and relishing the summer sun after a month of Hebra’s frigid cold. As the sea came into view she turned to him, mouth open with the words on her tongue—but he beat her to it.  
  
“It’s been eight years,” he murmured.  
  
She closed her mouth, lips turning up in a smile.  
  
“Eight years,” she echoed, gripping his hand tighter.  
  
They set up their beach towels beneath a particularly lush palm tree, and Zelda had quickly shed her dress, dancing on the hot sand in her swimsuit as she attempted to lure him out into the water with her. He waved her off, at least for the time being, pulling out an apple from the picnic basket instead. She laughed before turning and diving for the water, arising not a few feet away, wet skin glistening in the sun, her short hair sticking wetly to her scalp and neck. He paused mid-bite, eying her softly.  
  
He had been so, unbelievably lucky; not merely to survive the Calamity, but to end up here with this life—with her. Eight years they had been together now, three years married. He twisted his wrist, gazing down at the simple gold band which adorned his left hand before returning his gaze to her. She was walking through the tide, now, back towards him with a mischievous grin. Before he could much shift his thoughts to the present moment she was launching herself at him, her wet body soaking his dry clothes as she pushed him down onto the towel with a shout.  
  
He lost his apple to the sand, laughter rising from his belly as she giggled along with him, rolling herself all over him, to soak as much of him as possible. He didn’t resist, much to her disappointment; but that disappointment was quickly alleviated when he pulled her up his chest, wrapping a hand around her neck and pulling her down for a kiss.  
  
It was slow and gentle, but filled with the adoration and steady love of so many years together. She hummed contentedly into his lips and he let his hands wander over her hips, breathing in the smell of salt water and sun-warmed flesh. He pulled his lips away only long enough to murmur a quiet question:  
  
“Would you be terribly upset if I made love to you out here on the beach?”  
  
She laughed lightly, leaning in to kiss him again before answering.  
  
“You know… I don’t think I very much care if anyone sees us.”  
  
He grinned against her lips, and she wasted no time shimmying out of her swimsuit bottoms—and he, out of his shorts. With legs on either side of his hips, she lowered herself onto him, back arching as she leaned down for a kiss. They moved together gently, tenderly, hands wandering, his gaze fixed on the sight of her grinding atop him. Her eyes were half-lidded as she gazed at him with a tender smile, teeth worrying her lip whenever she hit a sensitive spot, breaths coming in quiet pants.  
  
Soon their rhythm sped and she leaned down, clutching him tightly as he took over, thrusting upward, arms around her waist and pulling her closer, lips at her ear whispering her name. She whimpered against him, kissing his neck, his jaw, anywhere her mouth could reach. His heart ached with each press of her lips, soared with each whisper of his name. They were together— _together_ ; for eight years… forevermore…  
  
She came saying his name, body quivering; and he followed quickly after, saying hers. He held her atop him, still joined, the smell of the sea and sun-baked sand filling the air; the feeling of unrestrained, all-consuming joy filling his soul.  
  
“Link?” she murmured softly against his ear, fingertips brushing his jaw.  
  
“Hm?”  
  
“Thank you. For making me this happy.”  
  
He turned his head to look at her then, so many words filling his head and none of them quite good enough. Holding her gaze, eyes soft, he whispered, voice breaking:  
  
“I love you so much, Zelda.”  
  
And that joy lingered, for many years more.  
  



End file.
